


I’d Rather Be Cuddling Than Fighting a War

by Zhie



Series: Be Advised [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Horses, Negotiations, Orcs, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 11:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18093581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: The war nears its end, and negotiations begin.





	I’d Rather Be Cuddling Than Fighting a War

**Author's Note:**

> Written for B2MEM 2019 - prompts vary.
> 
> Thank you to AnnEllspethRaven for beta reading and listening to my head canons and helping me figure out how long Oropher was dead. It's the little things, right? ;)

In an instant, he was gone.

“My king…”

Glorfindel wanted to block Erestor from charging forward into the fray without forethought, and yet, how often had he seen similar things?  There had been the news of Finwë, then the loss of Fëanor, and Fingon, and Turgon, and…

Turgon was by far the most bitter of these memories.  

Of course, there was his own demise as well.

The worry that Erestor might follow others converging to avenge their king was assuaged as the sound of a frightened horse was heard by both of them, and Erestor turned away from the power struggle to find the source of the noise.  “Hwesta,” he said, and took off.

Glorfindel twitched.  Battle was before them, possibly the end of all things--and yet, he, too, was compelled to find the source of the sound.  Racing to join his fellow fighter, he discovered there were a dozen or so orcs who had surrounded the king’s horse. Erestor managed to surprise two of the would-be thieves, but the others now swarmed him.  Though he was mighty, he was also overwhelmed.

One elf against a dozen orcs at once could likely have been a disaster, but against two elves, the orcs were quickly diminished, and the horse was freed.  As Erestor took hold of the muddy reins, an eruption of joy was soon a wave of elation, and both Elves made the decision to mount the steed and hurry back to join their comrades.  

It did not take long to realize that the cheerful noises were attributed to the destruction of the dark lord, and for a moment, Glorfindel was overcome with a burst of jubilation in his heart.  So moved was Glorfindel that he, sitting behind Erestor, hugged him briefly. Erestor, startled, patted Glorfindel’s arm in return just before they dismounted and weaved a path to try to reach Elrond.

They were blocked.

“Captains.”  

“Prince Thranduil,” they greeted in unison, bowing to the imposing figure standing before them.

“King Thranduil,” he corrected, his eyes half-closed, dark marks beneath them.  His armor fared worse than their own, and he sported numerous scars and bruises from the battles that had been fought.  Blood, both orcish and elven, was caked in his hair. Despite all this, he still carried himself in a regal and dignified manner, chin up, poised perfectly, even though his voice made him sound as if he wanted to take a nap for a thousand years.  “You will excuse me if my kin and I do not stay and partake in the revelry.” As they spoke, a display of fireworks began to explode overhead, and the last of the orcs were slaughtered or driven off around them. Thranduil’s gaze traveled up to stallion beside Erestor.  “Impressive creature,” he said. “Mine was killed years ago. I suppose I shall have to walk back to Greenwood with my father’s remains. Please pass my condolences for my absence from the celebration to the new High King.” 

As Thranduil walked away, Glorfindel leaned closer to Erestor and asked, “Has it not been years since the death of King Oropher, or have all the days and nights run into a singular nightmare that has tricked my mind into believing far more time has passed?”

Only when Erestor was certain Thranduil could not hear them did he respond with, “You have seen the large, tightly sealed oak barrel in the Greenwood encampment?  The one they surrounded with incense?”

Glorfindel’s expression looked almost painful.  “I sat on that a few times.”

“Well.  I can see why Thranduil greeted you as he did.”  

A group of soldiers under Glorfindel’s command came past with congratulations.  After they moved on, Glorfindel added to Erestor, “I think he expected us to give him the horse.”

“He can have him, as far as I am concerned, if only he would ask, but he will not ask.”  Erestor looked at Glorfindel. “I still have my horse.”

“Do you?”  Glorfindel nodded, impressed.  So many of the horses and dogs brought with them had perished in the war, and there had been no replenishing them, save but to steal away from the orcs--and only horses and the occasional puppies were the only options for that.

“Parma.  She is with the--oh, stop.  You had to know I would name my mount something like that,” Erestor said as Glorfindel smirked.  

“I have a horse, too.  His name is Thúlë.” He looked up at the horse Erestor had.  “What did you call him again?”

“Hwesta.”  Erestor caught the look in Glorfindel’s eyes and held the reins out to him.  “Here. He is yours now. Where is Thúlë?”

“At the northwest camp.  I cannot take this creature, though,” he began to argue, but Erestor shook his head.     
  


“Yes, you can.”

“No, I--”

“Trust me.  You can,” Erestor said with an air of authority.  “However, you cannot possibly ride two horses. Are you very attached to Thúlë?”

Glorfindel recalled the incident when they first arrived, and Thúlë bit him on the rear, as well as the time he was kicked for not providing him with a snack when he hurried by after a skirmish that had not gone so well.  “Not really,” he said. 

“May I use him to negotiate?”

“Negotiate?  With Thranduil?”

“Of course.  He wants something; I am not going to just hand it over,” Erestor said to Glorfindel as he finally transferred the reins.  “Better trade agreements, a more favorable commerce situation--if he wants a horse, he is not going to just get one, but he can earn one.”

Glorfindel gave Erestor a hard look.  Until now, it seemed Erestor was very good at taking orders from superiors and leading his troops into battle without question.  Now, there was a different side that Glorfindel was seeing, as if a layer was rubbing off. “There is more to you than I think you have let on,” said Glorfindel carefully.

Erestor smiled.  “How about we go and find your horse, and you can tell me that balrog story you so fondly relate to everyone at least once a week at supper?”

“That was a blatant change in subject, but you certainly know my weakness, Captain,” said Glorfindel as they set off with Hwesta in a northern direction.


End file.
